


U.B.C.S Kink Shorts

by AnotherAnon0



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Age Play, Anal Fingering, Big Dildos, Blood and Injury, Bondage, Breathplay, Camboy Nicholai, Cheating, Choking, Class Issues, Cock Rings, Comfort Sex, Consensual Non-Consent, Daddy Dom/Little Boy, Daddy Kink, Double Penetration, Explicit Consent, Exploitation, Fear Play, Flogging, Forced Prostitution, Gangbang, Glory Hole, Handcuffs, Hospital Sex, Idiots in Love, Incest Kink, Knotting Dildos, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Masturbation, Murder, Object Insertion, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pain, Praise Kink, Public Blow Jobs, Public Humiliation, Punishment, Puppy Play, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Roleplay, Rough Body Play, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Self-Humiliation, Sex Work, Sexual Fantasy, Slut Shaming, Spanking, Spitroasting, Topping from the Bottom, Tyrant sex, Unconscious Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Viagra, sexual ageplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:47:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 17,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27967061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/pseuds/AnotherAnon0
Summary: A series of short, kinky fics featuring the Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service boys!Warnings and pairings in each chapter!More tags, pairings, etc will be added as time goes on.
Relationships: Carlos Oliveira/Mikhail Victor, Mikhail Victor/Murphy Seeker, Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Carlos Oliveira, Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/HUNK, Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Ivan | Tyrant T-103 Variation, Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Mikhail Victor, Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Murphy Seeker, Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Sergei Vladimir, Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Tyrell Patrick, Sergei Vladimir/Carlos Oliveira
Comments: 57
Kudos: 56





	1. Alone at Last (Nikolai/Ivans)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: (all sexual content is implied) double penetration, perversion, spitroating, hair-pulling, tyrant sex.
> 
> Pairing: Nicholai/Ivan Twins (T-103 tyrants)

Sergei had thanked Nicholai profusely for his willingness to _babysit_ the Ivan twins.

The Colonel had been called away on urgent business to Rockfort Island, and the two tyrants hadn't taken extended flying times well the last time he'd tried to bring them -- getting anxious rather quickly once buckled up in the company helicopter. Humanoid tyrants could be like unruly toddlers at the best of times.

Nicholai had been nonchalant. 

" _Of course, comrade!_ " He'd mewed, " _No problem_."

No problem, indeed.

In reality, the Ivans would have been fine left alone at their stations, standing idly in the living room, waiting for the Master to return. All they really needed was the occasional injection of B.O.W nutrients. But Sergei treated them like children, as though they wanted company and comfort.

Well... So did Nicholai. 

He'd trained away the smile that wanted to burst forth when he saw Sergei off, waving goodbye as his troupe of minions helped him with his bags and packed him away into the convoy. But the moment it pulled into the distance, he started grinning like a teen who was watching his parents drive off for date night and had left him home alone with pizza money.

But what he had was much, much better than pizza money. 

The Russian locked the front door of Sergei's flat behind him, sauntering into the living room where the two, tall creatures stood, hands behind their backs, pin-still like British soldiers.

Alone at last.

He opened the nearby liquor cabinet to find where Sergei stored the drugs for Ivan. He sorted through the little vials of nutrient cocktail and steroids anxiously, biting his lower lip as he searched for what he knew from experience Sergei kept a bottle of.

_**Bio-Organic Weapon REPLICATION-X** _

_**UMBRELLA PHARMASUITICALS -- dd:089274** _

He couldn't help but giggle when he found it, a naughty haze washing over him. 

He wasted no time in popping two of the massive tablets out, inspecting the bottle quickly to ensure the missing pills wouldn't be readily noticeable. 

But it didn't matter now. Nothing else did. 

He brought them to the twins, holding one up in each hand.

" _Polknovik_ Vladimir wants you to take this, _Vanya_." He said calmly, " _S'yesh' eto!_ "

The tyrants exchanged a look as they processed the information, each moving in synchronicity to pluck the pill from Nicholai's hands and awkwardly shove it into their mouths.

Immediately, Nicholai began stripping, tugging off his shirt excitedly as he moved to his satchel, which he'd discarded on the couch after arriving. One hand began to fiddle with his belt, sloppily unbuckling it as his other dug into the bag, searching for the bottle of lubricant he'd brought. 

After last time, he knew he'd need it.

By the time he'd eagerly stripped his pants and underwear, the Ivans were already reacting to their medicine. The two beasts were shifting uncomfortably from boot to boot, tendons in their thick necks bouncing, breaths becoming heavier and heavier. 

Nicholai was giddy, quickly closing the distance between them and fiddling with each one's belt, letting the heavy fabric of their limiter coats fall open like perverse curtains to reveal the perfect bodies beneath. Clones of Sergei's DNA, they had similar physiques to the Colonel -- perfectly contoured muscles jutting and trembling as the medicine continued to apex inside of them. 

But their cocks... their cocks were unholy perfection.

Longer and thicker than any human's -- built for breeding with other B.O.Ws, they were intended for bodies far larger than his. 

Fortunately, Nicholai had a big appetite. 

Just setting his sights upon them made his own erection bounce to full arousal, tongue darting out to lick at his lips hungrily.

Last time Sergei had asked him to watch the Ivan twins, he'd accidentally confused the breeding pills with their usual nutrients in a careless rush to get back to the movie he'd put on. But the consequence had been the best fuck of his life, the Ivans ripping his clothes to shreds and using him as the only other available body in the house. 

He'd learned a few lessons, then. 

Namely -- to have lubricant, and to be prepared for when they would inevitably need him.

Nicholai dropped to his knees with a grin, twisting open the bottle of lubricant before leaning forward onto one hand. He slipped it between his thighs, just barely popping the opening into his own and squeezing until he felt the gooey, cool slop slink into him messily. 

He used far more than he'd need with a human, squeezing until the tube sputtered and he felt full, by which time the two Ivans were looking down upon him like they were starving tigers and he was a steak.

A short, perverse chuckle bubbled from him as his fate became sealed, one of the Ivan tyrants grabbing a fistful of his hair roughly and jerking him forward as the other circled him with a huff.

It may have seemed, to the untrained eye, an unnecessary show of aggression towards a willing hole -- but B.O.Ws were much like wolves, needing to physically dominate their pray before breeding. Nicholai took the roughness now with a subservient moan, though it had frightened him the first time. 

It was foreplay. 

The only foreplay one could have with a tyrant. 

Nicholai set both of his palms on the floor, legs parting widely, offering himself on his hands and knees to the twins like the good whore he had accepted he'd always wanted to be.

When he felt the massive hands on his hips from the Ivan positioning itself behind him, he almost squealed with joy.

There was a tickle of lubricant running down his thighs, warmed by the heat of his body and slipping from him to run ribbons of glistening clarity between his pale legs, and he opened his mouth widely and stared up at the Ivan above him, tongue lulling from his lips.

He hoped he looked inviting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are all drafts I am clearing out, one by one. So they should come out rather quickly!


	2. Comfort (Mikhail/Carlos)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Oral sex, blood, hurt/comfort, angst, age difference, guilt, public sex, offering sexual services for comfort
> 
> Pairings: Mikhail/Carlos

Carlos dabbed at the wound delicately with one of the pink baby towels he'd managed to find in a sealed crate during a sweep of the city quarter.

The little ducks on the fabric were steadily losing their yellow, being overtaken by the deep redness of Mikhail's blood.

The older man looked stoic, unbothered by what should have been a painful cleaning. His glittering, brown eyes were cast out of one of the subway windows, Adams apple bobbing occasionally in what appeared to be deep thought. 

Silence passed between them, Carlos quickly using some First Aid spray before resuming his careful dabs.

Another duck disappeared by blood. It made Carlos' jaw clench.

Suddenly, the Captain spoke, pulling Carlos' eyes away from the wound to see the older man was looking down at him.

"Get up, Carlos, I don't want you to numb your knees." His words were firm but kind, a small smile pulling at his rosey, scraped cheeks.

"I'm fine, Cap!" Carlos tried to speak nonchalantly, "Just want to take care of this."

Mikhail chuckled, "There is nothing to take care of, _malysh_. It is just broken flesh."

Carlos furrowed his brow tightly, continuing to dab away, ignoring the man's words until one of Mikhail's hands gently scooped his, stilling it from its incessant nursing. 

The younger man looked up again, lip twitching.

"It is okay, Carlos."

"No, it's not."

Mikhail sighed, his fingers rubbing against Carlos' knuckles softly, drawing little circles over his glove.

"Please do not worry about me, I--"

"I don't want to lose you." Carlos knew his voice had cracked. He hated it. 

The Russian shook his his head, lifting his hand to play his fingers along the young man's cheekbone, "You will be fine."

Carlos tossed the towel to the floor, huffing loudly in frustration. He wanted to get up and storm away, but didn't want to leave the warmth of Mikhail's touch. It was an anchor for him, and he pushed his face into it firmer, demanding more contact.

"H-had I just **_been_** t-there..." Carlos mumbled, "Y-you were trying to s-save everyone and I was j-just..."

"Shhh..." Mikhail soothed, "You were precisely where you needed to b-- _gah_..." The older man pulled his hand away suddenly to clutch at his belly, a sting of pain shooting through him suddenly as he spoke.

Carlos whined in anxiety, upset by the Captain's pain. He lunged to grab the towel again, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder and a mew that everything would be alright.

"Can I make you feel better?" The offer was a desperate blather, through sloppy lips trying to hold back the bitter taste of anguish. 

Mikhail smiled, "I feel fine, _malys--"_

Carlos didn't wait for the half-rate reassurance. He didn't want it. He only wanted to be useful. 

His hands grabbed at Mikhail's fatigues, fingers sloppily trying to navigate the sea of buckles and buttons and zippers that increasingly frustrated him with every passing second they delayed his entry. Above him, Mikhail was in some degree of shock, eyes widening as he watched the young man fumble through trying to pull open his pants.

"C-Carlos...?" Mikhail asked, head cocking to the side. His fingers played along the side of Carlos' shoulder, applying gentle pressure as he silently encouraged the boy to stop.

And he did.

For just a moment.

A moment that was filled with glassy, hazel eyes and quivering cheeks tilted up towards him with a meek plea.

"Please. Please let me."

Mikhail turned his head to look through the distant door into the survivors car, a few curious civilians having taken to the window to watch what was happening. A blush came over his cheeks as Carlos finally made it through the near-endless layers of fabric, tugging him free eagerly, unconcerned about the display of subservience he was putting on.

The Russian turned away, deciding he wouldn't care either.

He ran a hand through Carlos' messy mop of brown hair, leaning back against the seat as the boy began to kiss his manhood, pleasure overwhelming the pain in an instant.

Comfortable, for once. 


	3. Whore (Mikhail/Nikolai)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: slut shaming, rough oral sex, punishment reference, cockrings, orgasm denial, viagra
> 
> Pairings: Mikhail/Nikolai, Nikolai/other UBCS (mentioned)

Mikhail's head lulled back onto the chair's back, eyes closed softly, lips slightly parted. 

There was a brief moment of silence in his office. Only the clock dared speak, _tick-ticking_ away at the seconds passing.

The Captain could feel the soft sunset heat tickling his cheek through the large window -- sheer curtains drawn, a diffused orange haze patting down the old books on his bookshelf and reflecting from the picture frames full of medals hanging on the wall, watching him with their interrogative glare.

Rudely, a disgusting noise interrupted the handsome ambiance that had settled. 

A gag. A gurgle. A muffled whine. 

Mikhail cast his eyes down his nose condescendingly, lip cocking as he took in the sight of Nicholai's head buried in his hips, trying desperately to drink his orgasm but struggling through the minutes he'd been forced down without air. Mikhail's hand was coiled in his silver locks, holding him down firmly.

The elder sighed, weighing his options before deciding to release him. The Sergeant pulled his head up immediately, globs of cum dripping from his swollen lips, cheeks red and eyes teary.

He coughed and choked, heaving breath into his depleted lungs but the air getting stuck in the sticky cum lining his throat. 

Mikhail gave him a moment to recuperate, the younger man shifting awkwardly on his sore knees, shoulders trying to roll away from the stress position his arms been bound into behind his back.

"Filthy thing." Mikhail smirked, lifting a boot and prodding the reddened, straining erection jutting from Nicholai's lap, prompting a gargling yelp from him.

He rubbed the toe of the boot against the needy cock, stepping on it lightly and pressing it into Nicholai's thigh, amused with the half-pained-half-overjoyed reactions he was able to provoke. 

Nicholai was desperate for release. His cock proudly displayed that perversion even if he hadn't spoken fully-formed words in hours. The tight, metal ring binding his cock and balls tightly prevented him from reaching his climax, keeping him teetering on the edge of insanity with every increase in stimulus he was forced to endure. Mikhail pressed down harder on the engorged organ, grinding his tread against it delicately and delighting in the ragged cry that echoed throughout the room in response. His cock tingled with the scream, excitedly becoming needy again, so shortly after his last orgasm.

Viagra was a magical drug, and particularly useful for Nicholai's occasional punishments. He'd taken one himself for stamina but fed two to Nicholai hours ago, and the effects were now in full swing. Coupled with the cockring, Mikhail was sure the younger man must have been in agony. 

"Do you regret being a whore yet?" Mikhail droned smugly, cocking his head to the side in arrogance. 

Tiny, thin tears were rolling down Nicholai's cheeks. Involuntary reaction to overwhelming stimulation. 

"Hmm?" Mikhail prompted again when no answer came, reaching out and grabbing Nicholai by the hair once more, jerking the silver fox closer again before lowering his head until their noses almost grazed each other's.

He dropped his voice to a hushed whisper, "I told you what would happen if I caught you sucking cock in the bathroom again, didn't I?"

Nicholai mewed softly. 

"Remember?"

"Mm..hmm.."

Mikhail grinned cruelly, "What did I say would happen?"

Nicholai's Adams apple bobbed harshly as he tried to swallow the accumulated saliva and cum still clogging his throat. He licked his swollen, flushed lips, jagged, raspy words fluttering past them shortly after.

"T-that I-I w-wou-ld ha-ve t-to suc-k c-cock u-until I d-didn't li-ke it..."

Mikhail nodded, sitting back up in the chair and leaning back again with a sigh.

Almost robotically, he guided the younger man back to his still-erect member in a silent demand he resume his punishment. 


	4. Street Walker (Sergei/Nikolai)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Sex work reference, role-play, verbal, fluffy shenanigans, implied rough sex
> 
> Pairing: Sergei/Nikolai

Nicholai's feet were killing him. 

The U.B.C.S staff party was a bad place to try and break in his new Doc Martins. The vodka he'd drank only somewhat muted the pain. 

He walked slowly along the filthy sidewalk, arms wrapped around his chest tightly in an attempt to keep warm. He cursed himself for having taken his eyes off of his jacket in the club -- someone having snatched it from his booth just as he and Carlos were going to grab drinks. 

Wallet and all -- gone. Carlos was too damn drunk to drive, deciding to stay longer and sob over some _chica_ with a fake ass who wanted nothing to do with him, leaving Nicholai to have to walk back to his condo, no money for a taxi.

He groaned as a rat ran past his feet, the fat creature bumbling into the nearby alley on chubby feet. 

" _Valovoy_!" He shouted at it, lip cocking in disgust.

He continued to walk, grumbling to himself and rubbing his arms as they prickled with goosebumps from the cold.

The darkness of the empty city street was suddenly cut by a set of headlights turning on, the sudden brightness taking Nicholai aback. They were coming from a black BMW that he'd been getting closer to, one parked at the curb. Nicholai had thought it was empty, and hadn't paid it any mind.

He continued to shuffle along, noticing as he approached that the vehicle had tinted windows. But as he passed by the driver's side back door, the sound of _whirring_ caught his attention, and he turned his head to see the window being rolled down.

"Good evening!"

Nicholai stopped mid-step, immediately rolling his eyes as the sound of a deep, delicious Russian accent pierced through the white noise of the city nothingness.

Sergei.

The Colonel beamed a smile at him, scarred face illuminated by the dim, orange lights in the sedan. The warmth emanating from the window was inviting, and Nicholai closed the distance between himself and the car to take more of it in. But just as he leaned down to ask Sergei for a ride home, the older man spoke again.

"What's a cute little boy like you doing out here on these dirty streets?"

The words took Nicholai off guard, whose eyebrows shot higher as he took a moment to process them, request for a drive catching in his throat.

The peculiar glimmer in Sergei's eye made understanding what he was up to ever-so-slightly easier, though no less entertaining.

Nicholai huffed an amused sigh, reaching out and coiling his hands over the pane of the open window, cocking a leg and arching his back slightly.

"Waiting for you." He winked, licking his lips slowly.

"Oh?"

Nicholai nodded curtly. 

The Colonel chuckled, letting his fingers play on one of Nicholai's hands, digits running over his bumpy knuckles. 

"Do you do rough?" He asked, the glimmer in his unscarred eye intensifying.

"I don't like rough." 

"But do you _do_ it?"

Nicholai pouted innocently, "You're going to hurt me, Mister?"

Sergei grinned, slipping his fingers beneath the hand he'd been caressing, lifting it to his lips and planting a soft kiss over the cold flesh. 

"Oh yes. Very badly."


	5. Hired Guns (Tyrell/Nikolai)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: verbal sex, murder, betrayal, hair pulling, blood, guns.
> 
> Pairings: Tyrell/Nicholai 
> 
> NOTE: This scene is based off of Tyrell's characterisation and fate in the original RE3

The metal operating table scraped across the floor loudly, legs jittering and squealing with every forceful bounce of the two bodies leaning against it.

Nicholai's head was lulling, a contented smile across lips that were huffing meek pants, eyes closed softly as teeth closed around a delicate piece of his neck and bit down. The Russian's hands snaked around the other man's back, fingernails clawing into the fabric, sliding up towards his neck in a desperate need to touch flesh. His legs wrapped around the younger man's hips, greedily demanding more of the firm, deep thrusts.

He mewed when Tyrell's tongue lapped out to plant a long, rough lick across his cheek, sliding towards his ear hungrily. 

"You like that you fuckin' slut?" He whispered, fingernails sinking into Nicholai's muscular hips tightly as he thrusted, "I know you do."

" _Da_..!" Nicholai bit his lip, wiggling his hips and tightening his legs greedily. 

One of Tyrell's hands lifted to grab at Nicholai's short, silver locks, jerking his head until his neck was stretched back, desperate to mark more of the thin, pale flesh.

Nicholai's Adams apple bobbed as the younger man's full lips ran over it, his tongue peeping out to lap at it, teeth just barely grazing it. He gasped softly against the little bump, as though he were an apex predator readying himself to rip his prey's throat out. It made Nicholai groan loudly. 

Cum squelched between them, the moist sounds of flesh on flesh perversely echoing throughout the empty hospital halls.

The Russian whimpered loudly as Tyrell began to set a rougher pace, the fingers in his hair tightening unintentionally as he did. 

"F-fucck... Fuhh..." The _pang_ of sharp pain prompted a desperate moan from Nicholai, whose climax quickly followed with a loud cry. The sight was enough to send Tyrell over the edge, who took in the sight of Nicholai's leaking cock excitedly.

"Goddamn--!" Tyrell hissed, sinking himself into Nicholai's body a final time with a rough thrust, setting his cock as deep as he could as cum began to flood from him.

The two men stilled, Tyrell panting into Nicholai's neck, nose nuzzling the warm, bruised skin there contently as he fluttered away from orgasmic bliss.

Tyrell could feel one of Nicholai's hands rubbing softly at the back of his head, the soothing sensation causing a gentle smile to form on the younger man's face. With a loud sigh, he steadied himself and tried to withdraw his softening cock from Nicholai's wet entrance -- but the hand on the back of his head didn't abate as he did, holding him in place gently.

"Still needy, huh?" Tyrell chuckled.

Nicholai pouted an affirmative, legs slowly uncoiling from around Tyrell's waist. 

But still, the hand didn't drop away.

"I'm going to miss your cock."

"Hmm?"

Tyrell could almost hear the smile in Nicholai's words, but his orgasm-hazy mind was still unable to process them.

"I said..." Nicholai rubbed his lips against Tyrell's scratched cheek, "I am going to miss your big, beautiful cock."

Tyrell hiccuped, unsure of why it suddenly felt as though the air felt like it had left his lungs but knowing he'd heard something loud -- very loud -- before it did.

He stumbled backwards involuntarily, head immediately feeling hazy, a fog over every one of his senses.

And then he felt warm.

Something impossibly hot and impossibly wet was pooling down his legs, soaking into the fabric of his clothes, making it uncomfortable and sticky.

He swallowed hard and peered down his nose.

Blood. Lots of blood.

The drop to his knees was impossibly long and heavy, the room beginning to spin around him. 

He looked up in confusion to see Nicholai blowing the smoke wisping up from his SIGpro's muzzle like he was James Bond, a cruel smirk pulling at his lips.

" _Dosvidaniya_ , Ty!" 


	6. Pretty Boy (Carlos/Sergei, Non-Con)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: rape/non-con, object penetration, loss of virginity, exploitation, class/race issues 
> 
> Pairings: Carlos/Sergei

Carlos' head hung heavily. His eyes searched through the intricately-dyed pile of the carpet below his feet, seeking comfort in drawing the red and white patterns with his eyes. 

But there was no comfort to be had here. 

Not now.

"Such a pretty boy." The deep, rolling accent cut through the momentary silence that had settled in the grand office. It made Carlos' nose crinkle and lip twitch. His eyes peeked up towards the tremendous figure draped in a throne-like armchair a few feet away. 

The Colonel. 

The highest ranking member of the U.B.C.S and an Umbrella executive. A man he'd foolishly sought the assistance of, in innocent desperation with a hope and prayer he'd be as kind as Captain Victor. A part of him thought there might have been a chance the Russian would understand and sympathise with his family's hunger after the crop drought in his country.

Oh, how wrong he had been. How stupid. His brain cursed at him endlessly, furious at the fact he'd made such an awful decision.

But he knew he had no choice.

"Such a pretty boy!" Sergei repeated with a content sigh, swirling the short glass of clear liquor in his hand lazily, "And such a big heart in the pretty boy, hmm? Wanting to help your village..."

Carlos felt like gagging. 

"Don't worry. I will get them all the money they need." Sergei beamed a fake-sincere smile, "I am charitable, pretty boy!"

The Russian flicked his chin with an instruction, taking one last glance over the beautiful, caramel body of the naked soldier before moving to stand himself.

"Lean against the desk, _krasvachik_ , you have a long night ahead of you."

The dark wood of the massive desk was cold between his palms. It caused him to shudder, or at least he told himself it did. Every shallow breath felt like it stung, every little sensation or stimuli caused him to tremble. When the Colonel slid the vodka glass on the surface beside him, the scrape felt like it was being amplified in his ears on full volume.

"Have a sip."

Carlos didn't hesitate, downing the thumb of vodka with a perverse thankfulness before re-assuming his position. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Colonel slipping one of the long, blunt U.B.C.S-issue nightsticks from a holster and utility belt that was hanging on the nearby coat tree. He couldn't help but whimper, suppressing a pathetic bawl.

"You didn't think I would fuck you right away, did you, pretty boy?" Sergei droned as he grew closer once again, disappearing from Carlos' line of vision. 

The young man gasped loudly when a hand grabbed at his rear roughly, kneading one of the muscular cheeks with an abusive tightness. 

"Your virginal cunt is so tight it would probably snap my cock off." The Russian drawled, a smirk obvious in his voice, "And as fun as that sounds..." His words fluttered off into nothing, the kneading continuing, each claw-like squeeze prompting a whine of discomfort.

Carlos let his tears fall after he heard the sound of spitting, and the hollow din of a hand running over the dense wood of the baton. 

Again, perversely thankful. 

He clutched at the papers on the desk as the blunt head pushed against him, body desperately rejecting the foreign sensation of penetration. Falling to his forearms, he tried to quiet his anguished groans and grunts, burying his head in his arms, ragged sobs finally escaping him as he felt the rapidly drying baton finally push past his defences.

Sergei chuckled when the thinnest, jagged drop of red pattered to the floor below, rubbing the boy's back with his free hand in faux-comfort.

"You're not a virgin anymore, pretty boy!" He praised with a grin, twisting the nightstick slightly as he attempted to wiggle it in deeper, " _Pozdravlyayu_!"


	7. Ride Home (Sergei/Nikolai)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: rough fingering, verbal abuse, slut shaming, role-play, referenced sex work, bondage
> 
> Pairings: Sergei/Nikolai
> 
> NOTES: This is technically a "part 2" to Street Walker

Never accept a ride from Sergei.

There was a part of Nicholai's mind that kept repeating that piece of advice -- advice he hadn't followed himself -- but that part was so overwhelmed it was nothing more than a faint whisper through the lust-hazy void that had become of his brain.

His feet had hurt. He just wanted to get home, have a bath, eat something, and cancel the credit cards that had been in the wallet he'd lost at the club. 

But no.

Not tonight. 

" _B-blyat_!!" His attempt at coherent thought was instantly shattered by a button being pressed inside of him -- a fleshy button. A button deep in his cunt, one being prodded and stroked by Sergei's fingers meticulously as the older man worked two digits in and out of the hole. 

Softly mewing, Nicholai's eyes fluttered open, Adams apple bobbing as the wave of pleasure curled and crashed to shore, stilling for a moment as other waves built in the horizon.

He looked down his chest, groaning at the peachy violet that was blushing on his tightly frog-tied legs, calves bound to thighs with intricately knotted silk rope. He could see Sergei's arm bobbing between his legs as the man worked his fingers in and out of him.

" _ **Mmnn**_!!" Another button pressed, another wave crashed through his belly. He jerked on his handcuffs, the chains clinking against the headboard loudly.

"Enjoying yourself, whore?"

Through whimpers and blushing cheeks, Nicholai shook his head rapidly, still feeling bratty and upset over how he'd had his night ruined.

In response, Sergei dug his fingers into the wall separating them from the younger man's delicate prostate, aggressively prodding at it until Nicholai's back arched and lips gaped in a silent scream.

"Your can deny it but your body tells the truth!" The Colonel chuckled, "You want nothing more than to be fucked all day long, _da_?"

"N-n-- _GAHH_!"

His muscles clenched as his body tried desperately to peak, Sergei rubbing his prostate roughly, but the cockring binding his shaft made it impossible to do anything more than dry-heave and whine pathetically. 

Sergei nodded, a smirk pulling at his scarred lips, "Filthy piglet! Walking the streets just to get yourself off. It would almost be understandable if it was for money!"

"F-fuck y-you, Se-er-gei!" Nicholai grunted through his failed orgasm.

"What's that, whore? You want to be fucked now?" The Colonel scissored his fingers widely, spreading the hole that was practically dripping juice from his extended ministrations.

" _B-bhoze_!"

"Say it, whore!" Sergei sneered.

"N-no!"

A third finger was unceremoniously added, a loud squelching accompanying its insertion. Nicholai's back arched, another failed orgasm causing every muscle in his body to spasm.

" _ **Say it, whore**_!" The older man barked at him condescendingly, "Say it or I'll just fist you until your puny, cock-hungry brain melts."

"P-please **_fuck_** me!!"


	8. Human Shield (Murphy solo, Nikolai fantasy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: dildos, masturbation, size Queen Murphy, self-humiliation, extreme fantasies, rape fantasy, homophobic language

Murphy Seeker had secrets.

They were secrets he'd keep to himself, hidden away in drawers, in unsuspecting storage cases closed with padlocks, and behind his boyish glares and nonchalance. 

His secrets would come alive at night, usually, as he locked his dorm room door firmly, going so far as to put a chair in front of it. He'd draw the blinds and check the seams for even the finest of gaps, sometimes using a paper clip to keep the fabric from being accidentally being blown open if the air conditioning were to turn on.

And then he'd lay out his secrets on the bed -- stripping eagerly and biting his lip as he looked over them all, by which point he'd be practically vibrating with delight. 

He'd kneel beside them, fingers running across their rubber bodies, trying to decide which he'd play with that night. 

Purple. The long one, with a flared tip and thick, deep ribs. That one.

Lubricant always came first. He'd rub a generous dollop on himself, letting his fingers slip into his needy hole. It was almost utilitarian in nature. He treated it like he were a machine that needed servicing before the task at hand could be completed. He wouldn't get much pleasure from his own fingers -- they weren't nearly large enough.

Once he was well-moistened, he'd run his hands over his chosen secret for the night, rubbing off whatever lubricant was left on them before applying more. This was the intimate part, that part he pretended was real. He'd caress the rubber with his fingers so gently, playing them over the wide, jutting head, dipping them between each rib, as though he were pleasuring someone.

After he'd prepared his secret well, he'd slip it between his legs, having to awkwardly adjust position a few times until he was perched over it.

And then he'd sit.

Little wiggles helped it pop inside of him, a deep, guttural groan always accompanying the first few inches as he sank lower and lower. 

He'd breathe deeply as it snaked through him, trying to keep his muscles relaxed to give it total access to the deepest contours of his innards. He'd wimpier and moan as he felt it prodding at his stomach, bottom finally meeting his calves again as he accepted the length fully, effortlessly. 

Murphy would sit for a few moments in stillness, savouring the sensation being stuffed brought with it. 

He'd run his fingers over his nipples, squeezing and pinching them, tongue rolling along his lower lip hungrily. 

Rocking back and forth, he'd hazily drown himself in the sounds of the lubricant squelching from him, leaking onto the bed below. He'd tug and twist his nipples firmly, demanding they swell larger and larger, a painful warmth blooming from each bud.

He'd know it was time to continue when his cock would begin to bounce and drip desperately without a single touch of it, the ribs of his purple secret digging into his prostate with every little bounce he attempted. 

So he'd lay back carefully, using a hand down his back to keep the base firmly planted inside of him, hissing as he dropped against the pillows on his side, cocking one leg over the other to give himself better access. 

Little films would begin playing behind his eyes as he awkwardly gripped the large base, beginning to manually manipulate it inside of him. Little flicks of silver and black, the occasional glimpse of jade eyes and pale skin, a snarl and a condescendingly cocked brow.

 _"You're pathetic, Seeker!"_ The voice was always the same, and he knew who it was. That accent was unmistakable for anyone else on earth, _"Look at you! What a filthy faggot!"_

"S-sorry, Sir..." He'd peep in response, voice trembling as he twisted and pressed on the intrusion stuffed in his cunt.

" _No you're not!"_ The voice would continue with a snort, " _You love being a gaping pig, don't you?"_

"Y-yes, S-sir!"

The purple secret was too big and long for Murphy to fuck himself properly, slick fingers slipping all over the base, but the occasional thrust he managed to preform sent shockwaves throughout his body, and increased the volume of the voice in his head.

" _Better a whore than a soldier, Seeker!"_ It laughed cruelly, " _You're useless at combat. Just start selling your hole."_

Murphy whimpered, eyes squeezing shut as the weight in his stomach got heavier and heavier. 

His muscles spasmed around the secret, simultaneously pulling it deeper and trying to push it out. It wiggled like a snake inside of him, tendrils of juice and lube dripping down his ass perversely as the voice continued to scream at him, so close he could almost smell the vodka and cigarettes on the breath that wasn't there.

_"You're good for two things... Taking bullets and taking cock!"_

"F-fuh... _**Y-yes**_ Sargeant!!"


	9. My Daddy (Murphy/Mikhail)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: daddy kink, father/son role-play, age play, praise kink, hand job reference, fluffy and soft?
> 
> Pairings: Mikhail/Murphy

Murphy loved his _Cap'._

Everyone knew that. 

The young soldier would follow Mikhail like a lost puppy, excitedly listen to and obey his orders intently, and even go out of his way to be better and better during training, just to impress him. 

When his teammates would ask him why he worked so hard around Mikhail, Murphy would shrug his shoulders and nonchalantly answer -- "He's a good Captain." And, of course, no one was ever able to disagree. Mikhail _was_ a good Captain. 

Everyone knew that, too. 

But what nobody knew was what happened behind firmly closed, carefully locked doors between Murphy and his beloved Cap'. A gentle, precarious tryst that began when Murphy had wound up in Mikhail's office after another day of being bullied by Zinoviev, tears finally bellowing out of him in frustration and humiliation. He'd felt better after Mikhail wrapped his strong arms around him in a paternalistic soothe.

Much, much better. 

It had been a seed planted. One which grew rapidly and sprouted all sorts of twisted branches that jaggedly shaped the many coming nights.

Tonight was no exception.

Murphy dug his head into Mikhail's pillow, breathing in deeply and savouring the older man's scent. He was waiting for him, as he sometimes had to -- the Captain having been caught up at another platoon leader's meeting. He twisted and turned on the sheets, wrapping the edges around himself and then deciding he was too warm for that and tossing them off again.

He ran his hands over his thighs, fingers plucking at the hem of his baby-blue briefs and smoothing it against his hip. Even if they were a bit tight, they were his favourite pair of undies -- they had little giraffes and bunnies on them. Mikhail had got them for him. 

The sound of the door rattling open made Murphy's heart skip a beat, head jolting up from the pillow immediately. A smile pulled at his rosey cheeks as the door opened, Mikhail's kind eyes speaking to him immediately even before any words had been said.

"Daddy!" Murphy squealed excitedly, jumping from the bed and rushing to embrace the older man, who pushed the door shut behind them with a boot kicked back.

Mikhail's strong arms wrapped around his smaller body, squeezing him tightly.

"I am sorry for keeping you waiting, _mal’chik-zaichik_."

"It's okay, daddy, I was j--" Murphy's eyes widened when he leaned back and took in the exhaustion evident on Mikhail's still-gentle face, "Oh -- daddy is tired."

Mikhail chuckled, planting a soft kiss on Murphy's forehead, one the younger man accepted with a mew of delight, "Don't worry about daddy, tiny thing."

"But I can help!"

"I know you can, angel."

Murphy led Mikhail to the bed with a tug of his sleeve, sitting him down atop the tousled edge of the mattress. He began to pluck and tug at the older man's buckles, zippers, and buttons, slowly stripping him of the heavy utility belts and fatigue jacket that made up his uniform. He then dipped to his knees and undid his laces with reverence. As he tugged the leather boots off, he felt a soft hand run through his mousey hair, prompting him to look up.

"I have such a good little boy."

Murphy's belly felt heavy, a peep of happiness mewling past his lips as he looked into his Captain's dark, gentle eyes. He stood and straddled the older man's thighs, kneeling on the bed and wrapping his arms around Mikhail's broad, strong shoulders. 

"I have the best daddy." He whispered, their noses almost grazing as he leaned closely, "I'll do anything to make daddy happy."

Their warm breaths beat against each other in a moment of silence. Murphy ran his hands over Mikhail's back, wiggling his hips, bright blue eyes locked with his mature lover's. He leaned down to plant a soft, tender kiss on the older man's lips, stomach roiling with a familiar electricity as he felt Mikhail's scruffy grey beard tickle his chin while his large hands cupped his hips. When he pulled away and reassessed the elder's eyes, he saw that sparkling, devious glint of amusement he loved so much.

Calloused fingers began to peel the tight briefs downwards, slipping beneath the band and playing on the soft, freshly shaved skin. Murphy squeaked happily at the tender touch, youthful cheeks glazing with a hazy pastel flush. 

"You already make me happy, precious."

Murphy loved his daddy.


	10. Awful (Nikolai/UBCS Multi, Non-Con)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: humiliation, verbal abuse, bondage, public sex, vibrators, implied gang bangs, non-con, forced orgasms, forced prostitution, homophobic language, abuse
> 
> Pairings: Nikolai/All of UBCS basically

Awful.

That's what they liked to call him. 

In briefing reports, in formal filings, in the furious, frustrated, angry rants in the office's of the Captains -- almost every mercenary agreed, Nicholai Zinoviev was **_awful_**.

The sheer volume of the complaints led to a Captain's meeting one night, one where the elder soldiers clicked pens and bounced knees to the question of _what would be done about that awful man._ A talented soldier, but a thorn in the side of every one of his teammates. Mikhail Victor's suggestion was eventually adopted, after a few minutes of debate and discussion.

" _The boy just needs to be broken in a bit._ " Mikhail had said, always being far more courteous of Nicholai than the others, " _He snaps at everyone because he's so tightly wound._ "

And so it had been resolved. 

Nicholai had resisted, naturally. Confused, sleep drowsy, and frightened, he'd tried to jerk out of the handcuffs, causing them to tighten and bruise his pale wrists. He looked gob-smacked, jade eyes wide and teetering between anxiousness and utter fury. Mikhail had been the one chosen to explain to him what was going to happen and why, the older man's soothing, paternal voice calmly wading through the details as though it were a basic errand and not something completely out of the ordinary.

Of course, Mikhail had a big heart and was known for his kindness. He couldn't help but have some sympathy for the younger Russian, especially when he started to sob. Mikhail ran his fingers over the back of Nicholai's head and stroked his short, silver hair gently as he was stripped and inspected callously.

_"Not a virgin, is he?"_

_"I can't believe the so-called great Nicholai Zinoviev is a fag!"_

The Captain stood next to the young man when he was led into the Delta barracks, where stacked bunkers of troops were gape-mouthed in shock and snide amusement at the sight of their Sargeant, naked, red-faced, bound. Mikhail would try to encourage them to be firm but considerate. He'd stand on the sidelines and watch as mercenary after mercenary grabbed and used the vulnerable man's body, 

It was early morning before the platoon had finished, and while the other Captains wanted to simply leave Nicholai there, a corpse drooling cum from every hole, Mikhail slowly led him back to his room, his legs so shaky he could barely stand. 

_"This is for the best, Kolya."_ Mikhail chirped, _"You'll feel better after this."_

_"Mmhph..."_

Nicholai became a sexual fixture on the U.B.C.S campus, no less mundane than the water fountains or vending machines. Cleaning him was a chore assigned to a random conscript, cold water and harsh dish soap on rough sponges scrubbing away the layers, sweat, cum, and drool from his inner thighs and face.

Anyone who sought to use him, could. And everybody wanted a chance to take out their frustrations on the _awful_ Sargeant.

The only respite he got from being fucked was being humiliated. Sometimes it would be a relief. He'd be forced to kneel at the front corner of a training classroom, vibrator _whirr_ -ing loudly inside of him, causing his stomach to flutter and his head to lull.

He was a reward, then, like a golden star on a kindergarten board. Correct answers would lead to control of the toy's remote, and the mercenaries would cruelly alternate him between the very highest and very lowest settings. If he got too loud, orgasm after orgasm forced from him as the vibrator pressed against his prostate, he'd be slapped and gagged. He hated being gagged. His jaw would always hurt after, and the drool that would pool on his thighs would irritate him.

Once, he was a prize. The sniper who got the best marks a week running could have him for the evening. Murphy Seeker worked extra hard to win, having his own extended history with Nicholai he wanted to reach a catharsis over. He shot better than he'd ever shot, to the amusement of the Captains, and made Nicholai crawl on all fours with him back to the barracks, a pep in his step as he did.

The young man traded Nicholai's hole for cigarettes and canteen vouchers the whole night. 

He wouldn't fuck him, as he smarmily jeered to his face, cruel smile contorted in a grimace of hatred. He despised him far too much for that.

Because he was awful. 


	11. Harder (Sergei/Nikolai)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: whipping, topping/domming from the bottom/submissive, BDSM scene, abuse, self-harm reference, blood, mental illness reference, angst, pain addiction 
> 
> Pairings: Nikolai/Sergei

"Harder, Kolya."

A persistent demand, fluttering from breathy, scarred lips and stabbing into Nicholai's temples like the headache it always provoked.

**_FWAP_ **

A rolling groan of dissatisfaction, a stabilising huff of disappointment through the nose. 

" _ **Harder**_ , Kolya."

Nicholai grunted in annoyance, feeling like throwing the riding crop down and storming out of the room. 

His shoulders ached, his arm pulsated with a numb tiredness, and the hand tightly gripping the leather had started to swell with furious blisters on the pads of his palms. He rolled his neck until it cracked loudly, taking a deep breath before pulling his arm back and attempting another bludgeon with the lash -- one which broke a small, ragged line of skin. 

_Only_ a small, ragged line of skin.

Sergei cast a glance over his shoulder from where he knelt, rubbing his lips together as though he were about to start chastising a petulant child who wasn't doing his homework.

"Do you have the flu?" He asked, silver eyebrow cocking above his unscarred eye, "Are you tired?"

Nicholai scoffed in derision, shaking his head, "Your back looks like a fucking _Kandinsky_. And still it is not good enough for you?!"

Sergei smirked, "Then why don't I feel it?"

Because you're ill!" Nicholai sneered, "Mentally ill."

The hearty laugh that followed the attempted insult was raspy, hoarse, a little pained. No matter how little impact the whipping had made on Sergei's mind -- his body had. The suppressed gasps, yelps, and demands had left his normally powerful voice slightly muted. 

"Mental illness or no, I still didn't _feel_ it." Sergei said with a sigh, turning on his knees to face the younger man, "I want to _feel_ it, Kolya. Really, really _feel_ it."

"What does that even mean?" Nicholai hissed, annoyance swelling up inside his chest indignantly. 

Sergei laughed again, his beaming smile further irritating Nicholai. His hands began to run themselves over his tremendous abdomen and bosom, where even more scars in every shade of brown and pink were mapped out across his chest. Nicholai knew he had done most of the damage to himself. He only asked to be beaten in places he couldn't reach easily.

"I want to feel it." He said after a moment, "I want to be broken, Kolya."

"You'd never let yourself be broken." 

"But that's why I need it!" Sergei said, almost hysterical in his reply, "It must be exquisite! To be at someone else's mercy, to have your body ruined to the point your mind can think of nothing else..."

Nicholai sighed loudly, reaching out and letting his thumb run along the older man's lower lip in exasperated pause. Sergei shuddered at the contact, his tongue lulling from between his lips to lap at the digit seductively. 

"Your obsession with chasing this is going to get you killed." Nicholai scoffed, "You know that? Killed!"

The moan that escaped the Colonel in response made the younger man roll his eyes again. He immediately recalled all of the times in the past he'd had to scrape Sergei off of filthy alleyways and dingy bars, his pain addiction driving him to seek impossible highs in the most extremely of ways. Letting himself get beaten, robbed, raped, provoking deranged criminals -- nothing was off the table, and none of it seemed to be enough. Once, Nicholai had even had to help mop up a bloody room and toss out the body from a German BDSM club.

Poor Dom-for-hire Kraut didn't know what he was getting himself into when he failed to meet the Colonel's peculiar needs.

It had been part of the reason why Nicholai had begun insisting he be the one to try. At least he could make sure Sergei was breathing by the end of it. 

The problem being, Sergei didn't seem to want to be.

The Colonel's tongue left Nicholai's digit, a warm sigh breathing out over the moistened flesh, Sergei's unscarred eye flicking up to meet his patronising gaze with a smirk.

"Now we try again." He said smugly, " ** _Harder_** , Kolya."


	12. Size Queen (Carlos solo, Sergei fantasy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings: size kink, size difference, horniness, stretching, dildos, fantasy, rough masturbation

Carlos would never forget the night at the U.B.C.S Christmas party -- the one where he first saw _him_. 

The Colonel didn't usually grace the mercenaries with his presence. And even that night, it was really only to mingle with the other Russians, in a dark, dark corner of the grand ballroom Umbrella had given them use of for the evening.

Even drenched in the needy women from administration, all desperate for his attention and doing their best to puff out their bosoms and arch their backs, Carlos couldn't take his eyes off of the tall, silver-haired man. His heart had skipped a beat when the unscarred eye caught his, the tiniest of inviting smirks playing across Sergei's predatory lips.

He'd been shocked when the older man met him on his walk home -- heart skipping a beat as the deep, rolling Russian accent curled around his name.

" _Corporal Oliveira_."

He'd never been so thoroughly fucked. His experience with men had been amateur at best, and none of his experimental trysts had been with men who even came close to the incredible size and strength of the Colonel.

When he came to his senses in the morning, every part of him had been throbbing in a mix of pain and pleasure. His legs were shaky for hours, hips bruised and lips swollen. He hadn't even known how his coffee table had been split in half. 

He hadn't seen Sergei since. His searching eyes had cast their way through every meeting, every training session, every subsequent party -- but the Colonel hadn't come down to the barracks since that night. A not-unusual occurrence Carlos wouldn't have even noticed had he not started to need the older man _desperately_. 

His desperation would creep into the night like an angry spectre haunting him. It would force his hand down past the band of his briefs, furious, chronic masturbation sessions not quite scratching the itch which demanded his attention. When he gave in and, against the humiliated screaming of his conscious mind, finally started fingering himself while he jerked off -- the itch subsided somewhat.

And then it got worse. Much, much worse. 

Fearing he'd go insane, he'd somehow let his desperation take him to a local _erotica_ shop, cheeks burning a harsh beet-red as he stood before the display of obscene toys. The shop manager, a tiny, chubby man with a feminine, flamboyant voice eyed him lustily as he stood closely under the guise of trying to offer _assistance_.

As if there was any assistance to be had.

As if picking out a monster dildo was a science.

He'd clenched the opaque, black bag tightly in both hands as he walked home to his nearby apartment, horrified someone knew what the rather large, rather suspect looking plastic sack contained. 

When he got home, he tossed it on the bed and tried to pretend he hadn't just done what he did. He closed the bedroom door like it was an unwelcome guest and went about cleaning the apartment rancorously, vacuuming loudly and tossing the dishes in the cabinet like he was trying to scare the massive thing off. He scrubbed spots on his floor he'd never scrubbed before, and spent two hours using a q-tip cotton ball to poke dust from the tiniest of cracks and crevices. 

After, he showered off the sweat he'd accumulated in his furious, distracted cleaning tirade. The water was hot and the soap he used to scrub himself filled his senses. For a moment -- he'd forgotten about the itch.

For a moment.

Sitting on the bed after his shower, he slowly unpackaged his purchase. The toy looked far bigger in his hands than it had on the display, his fingers not even able to circle the ribbed, firm circumference. 

He was blushing to himself, the heat in his belly expanding and wrenching as he looked over the glistening rubber. 

He couldn't quite remember how big Sergei had been. 

Big. That's all he knew. That's all he could gather from how sore and stretched he'd been after.

This was big. _Surely_ it was big enough.

Carlos fished the lubricant out of the bag, awkwardly stumbling through the motions of uncapping it and tearing off the little, foil cover. He let the towel slip from his waist and kicked it off the bed, embarrassed to find his cock was already hard. He generously applied the clear fluid to the dildo, finding the act of stroking it confusingly arousing.

He tried to sort himself through a position -- entirely uncertain of how he should be. Seating, kneeling, on his side -- it all felt strange. He decided to stack his pillow up and lay on his back, slightly angled upwards so he could see what he was doing. He tried grabbing the toy by its massive shaft but his fingers slipped on the lubricant coat he'd given it, leaving him to have to grip the base.

An experimental press of the massive head against his hole sent electric shocks shivering through his stomach. He mewed in awe of his own body's response, how his legs demanded to be spread wider and his back arched into the failed penetration.

The tip of his tongue peeked out off the corner of his lips in delightful concentration, attempting another 'thrust,' firmer this time. He found forcing it into his body to be a strange and foreign affair, the pain of stretching in battle with the pleasure of being stretched. With a giddy gasp he pushed harder, and the flared head finally popped into him. He lulled back into the mountain of pillows with a loud whimper.

The flared glans of the dildo kept the toy from sliding out of him while he adjusted.

The stretch burned a little, but not terribly. It was perfect, and his greedy body decided it needed more. Gripping the base again, he applied pressure, the shaft slowly slithering into him with every gentle push. His inner walls throbbed and pulsated against it, as though they were sucking at it, demanding it deeper and deeper.

His hips rocked slightly into the sensation, an incredible feeling -- one of being filled utterly and completely. He could feel himself gaping inside, his insides swallowing the invader with an excitement that finally -- _**finally**_ \-- the itch that had driven him mad was going to be scratched.

"O-oh... C-Colonel..."


	13. Make Yourself Useful (Sergei/UBCS multi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: dom/sub, rape fantasy, sexual slavery fantasy, topping from the bottom, power bottom Sergei, glory holes
> 
> Pairings: Sergei/all of UBCS, Sergei/Nicholai

"You look quite cute like that, Sergei." Nicholai tilted his head to the side with an amused smirk on his face, "Quite. Cute."

The Colonel attempted a sneer, but his bravado was immediately muted by the deep, guttural moan that was forced from him. The chains around his wrists ' _clinked_ ' loudly as he tugged on them, a wave of electricity washing through every nerve in his body as another, anonymous mercenary entered him without warning.

Not that he was entitled to warning of any kind.

Not here. Not now.

Not when he was bound securely to what had been lovingly named _the breeding bench_ by the mercenaries.

The breeding bench was on Level 5 -- a rarely used level, one which had basically become as a storage area since U.B.C.S had taken over the old barracks. It was a repurposed medical table, slipped through a gaping hole in one of the old, tarnished walls. It provided some protection for the _offering_ \-- an appropriate title provided to the one being bred -- as it was difficult to see into the room where the top half of the offering's body would be laying, but it wasn't often difficult to figure out who had taken the place.

Especially tonight. The scars marring every inch of the offering's body were a dead giveaway. And even if they hadn't been, the lingering of Nicholai Zinoviev -- a man who thought himself above using the breeding bench -- provided conclusive evidence that the offering could be no-one but Sergei Vladimir. The Colonel himself.

It had caused quite a stir amongst the troops. Shock and awe gave way to disbelief, which gave way again to an excited flood of men to Level 5 a line that hadn't abated for hours.

Nicholai loomed over the Colonel's head, smoking casually as he watched the expression of lust soften the older man's features with every little bounce and jerk of the table. Involuntarily, one of his hands found itself dancing soft fingers across Sergei's scarred cheek, stroking it delicately -- almost lovingly -- despite the look of cruel condescension fixed on his face.

The Colonel's unscarred eye fluttered open to look up at him, prompting Nicholai's smirk to grow deeper.

"Enjoying yourself?" The cigarette bobbed in his mouth as he spoke.

Sergei huffed an exhausted, heavy breath through his nose, licking his lips.

"Shut up unless you're going to stuff my mouth."

Nicholai giggled, plucking the cigarette between two fingers and exhaling the smoke across Sergei's face. 

"Stop acting bratty! You asked for this."

Sergei scoffed, teeth gritting and table squeaking loudly as the mercenary using him came to his climax. A tiny, breathy mew always escaped the Colonel when he was filled with cum -- a subservient, sedated, satiated whimper.

He loved the sensation of warmth that pulsated through him as tendrils of cum flooded into every crevice of his innards. He wanted to imagine every cell in his body being saturated, drenched, leaking. He wanted to cough cum, puke it up, taste it in his mouth and on his breath for days. While he was the perfect picture of a stoic, disciplined, high-ranking soldier, he had long had fantasies of being fucked senseless and forced into submission.

But ever frightful of the implications of losing control, he'd only ever explored his fantasies with Nicholai, who had been refining his skills at dominating the older man since he was a teenaged, tow-haired conscript.

And how perfect he was. Sergei looked up at his off-again-on-again _Master,_ appreciating the little contours of playful cruelty on his boyish face.

They were a perfect pair -- on the battlefield and off of it.

"Another load, hmm?" Nicholai grinned, breaking Sergei's soft, post-orgasm rumination, "I lost track of how many that makes."

"Fif-ty-Seve-n." Sergei hiccuped, feeling another pair of hands clutch at his massive thighs, steadying himself for what would inevitably come next. 

Nicholai's eyebrows cocked up, "You _do_ love being a cumdump, don't you?"

Sergei's back arched slightly, jerking at his chains again as he was unceremoniously penetrated by the next in line.

This mercenary was larger than the last had been, and far rougher.

"T-told you."


	14. Merry XXX-Mas (Nikolai/Mikhail)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: sexting, cam boying, masturbation, exhibitionism, cheating, sex work, dildos, cam whore Nicholai meets sexually repressed Mikhail 
> 
> Pairings: Nikolai/Mikhail
> 
> NOTES: A lot (and I mean a lot) of people in this verse refer to Nikolai as "Silver Wolf." I am probably the only one who calls him Silver Fox. In source material, it seems split almost down the middle in terms of his code name being Silver Wolf or Silver Fox, but the oldest source material I can find, from the 1998 Japanese manual, seems to translate as Silver Fox, so that's the reason why I have always referred to him like this. Either is okay!! But I just wanted to explain my reasons :)

Mikhail knew it was wrong.

He knew it was shameful. 

He'd bury his phone in his pocket, keeping it on silent, desperate to hide it away from his wife. From his kids. From himself. 

Sometimes -- blissfully -- he would forget it was there. He'd go about his day, trying to enjoy the few weeks he had away from the U.B.C.S barracks on Christmas vacation with his family. He'd run his errands and do his chores like a dutiful husband -- stringing lights, wrapping gifts, and helping his wife prepare boxed cookies and pastries to give away to neighbours and family.

He would forget -- until it buzzed, the little vibration shaking through his thigh and pulling him away from the fantasy of simple, domestic contentedness he had carefully crafted. 

He would wait until dinner, happily humming through bites of the delicious meal his wife had made, before politely excusing himself to the bathroom. 

_SlvrFxxx63: Enjoying your vacation, Misha?_

Mikhail grunted, wondering whether or not he should bother answering.

He rubbed his lips together nervously before letting his thumbs hover over the keypad.

_M_Vic: I am trying not to do this right now_

_SlvrFxxx63: lol oh really?_

Mikhail sighed loudly, the _typing_ dots indicating Nicholai was still writing bouncing giddily at the bottom of the small screen. After a moment, a large text box appeared, one containing a slowly loading photo.

"Oh... God..." The murmur fluttered past Mikhail's lips as he took in the sight, eyes widening slightly.

Nicholai had snapped a picture of himself in a full length mirror. Naked and kneeling on the floor, his thighs were spread widely to proudly display the impressive base of the dildo that was embedded in his body. There was a glassy sheen of sweat painted over his pale body, defining the lean, muscular contours of his abdomen and thighs beautifully. 

The fucker was smirking.

Though a hazy, blushing face, he was _smirking_.

_Slvrfxxx63: that could be you!_

_Slvrfxxx63: YOOOU should be here helping me get ready_

_SlvrFxxx63: but you are not doing this right now :( lol_

Mikhail's fingers fumbled across the keypad furiously, trying desperately to combat the hot, prickly tingle that was scratching at his stomach.

_M_Vic: u should not be either!!_

_M_Vic: it is wrong!!_

_M_Vic: it is obscene to be showing urself like that to strangers!!_

With that, he turned the small device off, shoving it back in his pocket with a huff of outrage. He adjusted his shirt, smoothing his hands across the rough fabric before turning to exit the bathroom, returning to the humble dining room. 

He picked at his peas and potatoes, nodding slowly through the bubbly conversation his wife tried to offer about the Christmas parade that was going to be held in the city later on that week. But at the back of his mind, Nicholai lingered like a seductive parasite --plucking his attention from where it should have been. His eyes flicked up towards the clock on the wall.

7:30.

Nicholai would be starting _work_ right about now, Mikhail thought with an internal sneer of derision.

The younger man had taken up a rather _odd_ side-job during his breaks. One he had giddily revealed to Mikhail months ago, after one of their semi-regular, sloppy, scandalous trysts in the barracks locker room. Mikhail had been appalled, shaking his head and encouraging Nicholai to stop at once.

He was a soldier, after all. A former member of _Spetsnaz --_ a Sargent, for God's sake. He shouldn't be showing his body on the internet to strangers. 

But Nicholai had refused any concerns from his senior, going so far as to insist the money was good enough he might quit gunslinging and be a _full time cam whore_.

Mikhail felt his leg bouncing anxiously, and the words of his wife becoming more and more distant. Suddenly, he cleared his throat, interrupting the woman mid-sentence with a fake smile.

"I am feeling quite tired... I think I will head to sleep early."

"Are you ill?" She asked, concern creeping into her voice.

"Perhaps I am coming down with something... I should rest."

She nodded, accepting the quick kiss he pecked on her cheek as he left to head to the upstairs bedroom.

He closed the door carefully behind him, tossing his cellphone onto the bedside table and slipping onto the tousled mattress where his laptop had been sitting idly since he finished his briefing reports earlier that morning from bed. 

Propping te device over his thighs, he flipped open the screen, sloppily keying in his password and navigating to his web browser. 

For a moment, he stopped himself. Teeth digging into his lower lip, he almost considered closing the laptop again and having cold shower to punish himself for abandoning his wife and kids at the dinner table to go bare witness to the raunchy ritual of perversion he had no business partaking in.

Almost involuntarily, his fingers began to tap at the keys, spelling out a URL which would lead him to where he knew he shouldn't have been.

"This is the last time..." He murmured to himself, "The last time."

The page loaded agonisingly slowly, and, much to Mikhail's chagrin, logged him in automatically based on his past visits. 

He navigated through the page of various, small screens featuring smiling faces and naked bodies. But there was only one which immediately stood out to him. One which he could always spot through a crowd with ease. 

A little, green light was flashing beside the username _**SLVRFXXX63.**_ He was live. 

Mikhail clicked on the thumbnail quickly, the page re-loading to display a large video streaming window with a narrow chat log excitedly bumbling with comments beside it.

**_M_VIC has logged on!_ **

His Adams apple bobbed harshly, scraping against his throat as he watched the scene begin to unfold.

Nicholai was on his hands and knees getting plowed from behind by a burly, tattooed man. Mikhail couldn't see his face, the camera cutting off at his shoulders, but Nicholai's contorted expression of sultry ecstasy was in clear view for all to see as he bobbed forward and back on the impressive erection. 

" _B-blyat_..." Mikhail whispered to himself, the heat in his belly immediately sparking a flame that began to burn through his hips. 

Nicholai's jade eyes fluttered open, gaze directed towards the camera. Behind him, the burly man planted a few, harsh slaps against his plush ass. 

Slowly, a smile of recognition began to pull at the younger man's lips, eyes narrowing as his beet-red cheeks balled.

"O-oh... Look w-who d-decide-d to s-show." He hiccuped through rough thrusts. Mikhail's eyebrows cocked up, a small bit of annoyance twitching at his jaw as he realised Nicholai was referring to him.

He hated when he did that.

"M-Merry C-Christmas, Cap-tain!"


	15. Cumdumpster (Murphy/Nikolai)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: sex work, sexual fantasies, consensual forced prostitution, dom/sub, consensual forced feminisation, praise kink, financial domination, verbal abuse
> 
> Pairings: Murphy/Nikolai, Murphy/others

"You look decent, for once."

Murphy shuddered at the barely-existent praise, rubbing his tinted lips together in an attempt to evenly coat his lips with the dark red gloss he'd been instructed to wear.

Nicholai intently assessed the younger man's reflection in the mirror, standing behind him in the cramped bathroom. 

Tonight's outfit was a thin, tight black sweater and a dark green, schoolgirl-like skirt -- one that just barely reached his mid-thighs. He'd shaven his legs while in the shower -- among other areas. Nicholai said the clients liked him hairless. And even though it always felt strange, and sometimes hurt when the hair grew back, he complied. He would always comply. Compliance was his life. 

Nicholai roughly adjusted a few unruly strands of his sandy blonde hair with a grunt of dissatisfaction. Murphy dipped his head down to give the older man better access. Even though they were the same height, he knew he was supposed to make himself small.

When the Sargeant was done, he ushered the boy back towards the hotel room's bed, snapping his fingers in a wordless command he assume his position. Again, Murphy complied, crawling onto the large mattress and laying on his back, legs propped up. Just as he did, a forceful knock emanated from the other side of the door. Nicholai went to open it, inviting the man out from the hallway. 

Murphy wasn't supposed to look at his clients before they addressed him, but he snuck a peek through the corner of his eye.

Older -- much older. Maybe in the 60s or 70s. He was tall and a bit fat, with thick, black glasses perched on his stubby nose. 

Murphy listened as Nicholai began to speak to the man, unsurprised at the Russian conversation that followed. Many of his recent clients had been Russian. Nicholai told him they were criminals, mostly. Mafia -- or whatever the Russian equivalent was. 

They were negotiating, Murphy could tell. Negotiating over him.

This part always caused him to quiver with arousal -- the thought of being treated as a product to debate over. Involuntarily, his fingers began to snake up the fold between his hip and thigh, crawling towards his exposed cock beneath the skirt. They played gently on the already-hard organ, and he tried desperate to suppress a little groan. 

Giggles pulled his attention towards the two men, who were watching him intently. He immediately snapped his head forward, a blush coming over his cheeks as he realised he'd forgotten his place.

"You see? He's such a filthy whore he can't even control himself." Nicholai said in English, chuckling. 

"Okay, okay..." The older man conceded with a smile, waving his hand dismissively, and Nicholai left the room without another word. 

The fuck was an unceremonious one. The client's cock wasn't particularly large, and he wasn't particularly imaginative. But Murphy knew he was expected to moan and cry, gurgle and gasp, brea and arch his back into every thrust like the good little slut he was meant to be. He always enjoyed not enjoying it, forcing his body to respond despite itself. 

After the client came, Murphy dug his fingers into his moist hole, scooping out the sticky spend and slurping it from his fingers -- something that caused the older man to cock his eyebrows in perverse approval. 

" _Spasibo, Ser_." Murphy mewed as the older man got dressed, prompting a nod of satisfaction despite the Russian syllables sounding awkward slipping through his New York accent. Nicholai had trained him to thank his clients in three languages -- Russian, German, and Polish.

Nicholai entered the room again after the client made a quick call down to the lobby, accepting the payment with a smile and sending the older man on his way as he shoved it into his pocket. All of it was his, Murphy knew, and didn't expect a cent of it. Recently, the younger man even had to pay Nicholai for the privilege of being pimped out -- the Sargeant taking 10% from his U.B.C.S pay checks.

When the door closed, Nicholai locked it before striding up to the bed and assessing Murphy. The boy's lipstick was smeared across his face, his sweater pushed up over his nipples, skirt practically ripped off. A large, sticky stain had developed on the mattress between his still-spread legs.

"You look like shit." He sneered, "Don't you?"

"Yes, Sir."

Nicholai snorted, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his leather jacket and plucking one out, stuffing it between his lips, "Speak about it. Briefly."

He lit the cigarette and plopped down to sit on the edge of the bed, smoking contently as he listened.

Murphy took a deep breath and nodded, sorting through monotone, unexcited words like he was reading off a grocery list. "He fucked me rough, like I need. He grabbed my hair lots and slapped me around a few times. And then he came lots in my pussy. It makes me feel nice to be useful t'you, Sir."

"You aren't useful to me." Nicholai said simply, exhaling smoke beside Murphy's head, "You are a fucking headache and you're lucky I bother with you."

"You're right, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir. I am lucky."

"You better be."

"I am, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir, I'll work extra hard, I swear!"

Nicholai stood up with a grunt, internally debating whether Murphy should shower before his next client. Some men liked him like this, splayed out and leaking like a cumdumpster. He pulled out his cellphone and fired off a message, asking if the next client liked sloppy seconds or wanted Murphy to be refreshed. A moment later, a response. 

"Client wants you to clean up. Go wash." Nicholai nodded, pointing towards the bathroom, "And scrub your filthy cunt out real good or I'll do it with a fucking toilet brush. I don't want to see a drop of cum in that hole."

"Yes, Sir."


	16. Cumdumpster II (Murphy/Nikolai)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: sex work, consensual non-consent, fisting reference, sexual slavery fantasy, consensual forced prostitution, financial domination, anal tearing
> 
> Parirings: Nikolai/Murphy, Murphy/others

It was a cold night.

A _really_ cold night.

Murphy wrapped his arms around himself tightly, a shiver working its way down his spine as he stood on the dark, icy street corner, waiting for the next man who might take a liking to him.

He was grateful Nicholai had allowed him to wear full-length pants that night, rather than sending him out in the shorts he'd initially picked for his outfit. The man could be benevolent sometimes. 

Murphy trembled as a gust of sharp, freezing wind cut across his face. His lips felt numb, and fingers hurt. 

When he and Nicholai had started their _game_ , the older man had done everything -- arranging his dates, places, times. But lately, he'd taken to sending Murphy to the street to do it on his own, with quotas. 

$500. He couldn't go back home until he'd made $500.

And that would have been fine -- maybe even achievable -- had the Sargeant not also drilled rules into his head that dramatically decreased his ability to earn.

" _Whatever they want. You don't turn down anybody_." He had said, " _And you accept whatever they'll pay you_."

Most men underpaid, naturally. Especially those who demanded he do the sick shit for them, entertained by the prospect of ruining a young, muscular ex-Marine for pennies on the going rate. There were the few, rare creatures who overpaid -- like a kindly old man who insisted he take $75 for a simple blowjob. He'd even bought him a hot tea after, and let him drink it in his car to keep from the cold. But by and large, he normally walked away from his ordeals with $20, $50 if he was lucky.

He wanted to dig his hand in his zipped pocket and count how much was there, but he was afraid another whore would see it and rob him. He did some quick calculations in his mind, thinking about the client's he'd taken the whole night, wondering how much more he needed.

An old, rusty car slowed on the curb before him, the window rolling down a crack.

"You do fisting?" A deep, raspy voice called out to him.

"W-whatever you want!" Murphy nodded through words he had been told to say, teeth almost clattering from the cold.

He grunted, "How much?"

Murphy smiled sheepishly, "Whatever you w-want to p-pay!"

~

The man had shoved a wrinkled, ripped $100 bill in his trembling hand after he'd gotten dressed.

He knew it was probably because the man was nervous about what he'd done -- Murphy had clearly been in agonising pain the entire time. Maybe the man was scared he'd go to the police. But Murphy was thankful for the money anyway.

He was also thankful for the fact the man let him leave on his own, rather than drive him back to the cold nowhere. It gave him a few extra moments of warmth as he lingered in the mail room on the lower floor -- though his reluctance to leave wasn't just because of the bit of heat being trickled from the old radiator, but also because he couldn't walk well. 

He'd never been fisted before. It was awful.

Leaning against the radiator, his guts burned and his legs shook. He could barely stand up straight, and the walk down the tenement hall stairs had been a chore unlike anything he'd ever experienced. But he took the moment to count his earnings, excited to find he had just over $390. After more than 7 hours on the street, he was more than halfway done.

He made sure to zip up his pocket carefully before slowly making his way out of the building, trying to orient where he'd ended up in the city.

There was a distinct limp in his walk as he hobbled towards what he thought could have been a busier area, noticing a scummy liquor store on the corner. He figured it might be a good place to wait for a pick up.

He leaned against the side of the broken brick building on a shoulder, trying not to whimper as the pain radiating from his ruined entrance protested every little movement he made. 

For a moment, he thought himself quite smart for picking the spot he did to wait -- as not ten minutes later he was approached by a tall, blonde-haired man with a moustache and dark eyes. 

"You do oral?"

"Yes, Sir."

"How much?"

Murphy shrugged, "Whatev--" His eyes immediately widened when the man slipped a leather wallet from his pocket, flipping it open to reveal a glistening, golden police badge.

"You're under arrest."

~

His one call had been to Nicholai, who had groaned and hung up without a word. Murphy had been sure the older man was angry with him, and was going to let him rot in jail over the weekend. 

But just over an hour later, the sound of a familiar Russian accent shouting dramatically drifted down the long corridor where his cell was. It had made him smile immediately, fingers wrapping around the bars of his cell as he tried to crane his sight down to where the main office of the station had been.

A few moments after that, an officer came to let him go. 

When they gave him back his jacket and scarf, he was most upset to find his earnings were gone.

Nicholai didn't seem to care all that much, instead using his time to curse out the station staff until the moment the elevator came to take them to the parkade. Murphy thought it was funny, how scared all the police officers looked.

The drive home was quiet, as was the ride up to Nicholai's condo floor. Murphy felt like a child that was being silently scolded by a disappointed parent the whole time.

When they crossed the threshold inside, the older man began to bark at him.

"A cop?! Are you out of your mind!"

"I-I didn't know, Sir. I'm s-sorry, Sir." Murphy's hands wrung uncomfortably at his hips, "H-he didn't l-look like one."

Nicholai scoffed loudly, "Go shower!"

"Yes, Sir."

Murphy hobbled into the bathroom and stripped, tossing his dirty, cold clothes into the laundry hamper, grateful to be out of them. 

When he switched the water on in the shower, he made it hot. Maybe a bit too hot, but he was desperate to get warmth back into his bones, where a deep, deep chill still resided. He couldn't hold back the groan of happiness that escaped him when he stepped under the stream, nor the one that came when he smelled the familiar smell of Nicholai's lovely soap.

He was scrubbing himself firmly when the older man entered the washroom. Nicholai fiddled in the medicine cabinet for a few moments, sorting through the various bottles and vials. He then opened the shower curtain and demanded Murphy display himself, something the younger man hesitated to comply with at first.

"You were limping. Let me see."

"O-oh, I j-just..."

" **Now**."

"Yes, Sir."

Murphy switched the taps off before he bent at the waist and spread himself, a flush coming over his face as he did. He could hear Nicholai scoff and cluck his tongue, before a gentle, stroking sensation ran over his entrance. 

"A bit of tearing but it's not bad." Nicholai snorted, thickly coating the hole with first aid gel. He dipped his finger inside, prompting a gasp from Murphy, rubbing the inner walls with the soothing medication briefly. "You got fisted?" He asked flatly.

"Yes, Sir."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes, Sir." A lie. One that he was expected to tell. One he enjoyed telling. It made him feel more like the whore he wanted and needed to be.

When Nicholai was finished, Murphy stepped out of the bath carefully, accepting the towel the older man gave him and wrapping it around his waist. 

He was practically giddy when he found Nicholai had set some cushions down on the floor, in the corner of the living room where he normally slept. 

"Thank you, Sir." He mewed sweetly, "I-I know I don't deserve it."

Nicholai shrugged, watching in dissatisfaction as the younger man was shaky and uneven as he knelt to lower himself to the cushions.

A moment of silence passed between them as Murphy oriented himself on the makeshift bed, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in. Nicholai looked down his nose at him tepidly, finally breaking the nothingness with a sigh.

"Seeker."

It had been a long time since he'd called him that. Murphy peered up curiously.

"You alright to continue?" Nicholai's silver brow was cocked above one eye, and Murphy could detect the slightest bit of concern hidden in the usually cruel jade eyes. 

The younger man simply grinned.

"Oh yes."


	17. My Puppy (Carlos/Sergei)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: roleplay, humiliation, puppy play, dildos, age difference, size difference, praise kink, non explicit sexual content
> 
> Pairings: Sergei/Carlos

Sergei loved his puppy. 

A tiny thing with bushy, brown hair and gorgeous milk-chocolate eyes. Sergei called him "Carlos," sometimes. 

He was a good boy. Sergei made sure he knew that, stroking his puppy's curly mop of hair with caring mews after he diligently return a tossed ball or learned to respond to new commands quickly, excitedly.

Carlos always showed how much he loved to be praised by his Master, whining and shaking happily, nudging his nose into his Master's thigh, wordlessly asking for more pets. Sergei would never hesitate to give them to him. 

They went for walks together -- long ones during the gentle evening coolness. Sergei would unhook the leash from his puppy's collar and let him fetch sticks.

It was rare they passed anyone, wandering along the trails of Rockfort Island, but when they did, they looked at his puppy disdainfully. They seemed appalled, even. Carlos would get frightened, and crawl between his Master's legs, whimpering sadly. Sergei didn't pay them any mind, and told his puppy he didn't care what they thought.

"Ahw... _Malen'kiy shchenok_ , do not be afraid of those cruel people!"

"Grrr.. woof, woof!"

Puppies were meant to be naked, after all. It was only natural. 

After their walks, Sergei would feed his puppy and give him a bath. He used to wash him straight away once they got home, but quickly realised his puppy wasn't very good from eating from his bowl yet. He'd often get the thick meat gravy all over his chin and cheeks. It was quite cute -- everything Carlos did was cute to Sergei -- but a mess that would often prompt the need for another bath. So Sergei would serve up his dinner and wait patiently, sitting at the kitchen table and humming contently down at his puppy as he lapped at his bowl.

Once Carlos was done his dinner, he'd excitedly crawl alongside his Master to the washroom for his bath. He loved bath time, because it meant his Master would touch him lots.

Sergei used delicate, floral-scented soaps to wash his puppy. Ones that warmed beautifully and drenched his puppy's soft, caramel skin with crystalline, white bubbles. He'd run his strong hands over his puppy's body, stroking and scrubbing him firmly. His puppy would arch his back into his touch, little whimpers huffing from his nose as he cleaned sensitive spots. When he ran the shower head between Carlos' thighs, the pup would squeak and mew.

Sometimes, it would all be a bit too much for his puppy and he'd go into heat. Carlos would lay on the floor, belly up and legs spread, begging. 

Sergei was a good Master, however, and always made sure his puppy's heat would be taken care of. He had a special toy for Carlos to play with when his biological needs got the best of him. It was long and thick, durable and firm, with a grapefruit-sized knot at the end that always made Carlos happy. 

Sergei would stroke his puppy's belly while they played with his toy, growling and grunting excitedly. He'd hold Carlos closely while he worked it in and out of him, waiting for the moment his puppy's tongue lulled from his lips and his pants became heavy and hazy.

And after his puppy would finish playing with his toy, loudly barking and whining as he dripped and leaked all over himself, Sergei would take some tissue and try to clean him carefully. 

"We might have to give you another bath, _malen'kiy shchenok_."

"W-woof!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This series will probably end around #20, so there is still time to get in a request if you want to! :)


	18. Little Fish (Sergei/Nikolai)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Daddy Dom/little boy, incest role-play, consensual non-consent, rough body play, bondage, pain play, anal fingering, baby powder
> 
> Pairings: Sergei/Nikolai 
> 
> For Amy!! :) I tried my best with your prompt.

Sergei called Nicholai _rybeshka_ \-- little fish.

It was because of how his boy squirmed and flopped, wiggled and buckled atop his mattress. It reminded him of a caught fish struggling on a dock.

So small, his boy was. Though he dwarfed other men, he was tiny in comparison to his daddy. Sergei always loved to say how tiny he found his _rybeshka,_ how diminutive and easy to play with. He'd demonstrate it. When Nicholai would crawl into his lap for his evening cuddle, Sergei would wrap one of his tremendous hands around his boy's neck, his fingertips almost brushing as they coiled around the pale, thin flesh. 

He wanted to squeeze, but the glimmers of fear and little peeps his _rybeshka_ let slip past his lips when he did always reminded him to be softer. Daddies weren't supposed to hurt their babies, after all. They needed to be nice.

But sometimes he couldn't be nice. 

When he'd come home to see his little boy sleeping -- slim as a needle in his massive bed -- he'd get urges. Urges daddies should not have towards their little boys, he knew.

He'd slip the blanket down his _rybeshka_ 's body, licking his lips as he notices his boy's cheeks twitch at the soft sensation of being exposed. 

His new pastel blue _jammies_ looked so good against his pallor skin. The hearts and cute, cartoon bears on them always irrationally stirred something in Sergei's hips. He'd tug the soft pants down, slipping them lower and lower until he could pull the legs over Nicholai's feet. Then, when enough of the empty legs of fabric were pulled away, he'd wrap them around his boy's ankles, binding his feet and legs together.

 _Rybeshka_ would stir awake then, jade eyes twinkling with sleep grogginess and confusion.

"P-papa?" He'd mew, "What are you doing?"

"We're just going to play, _rybeshka_. Just a little bit of playing."

When he tried to move and found his legs were bound, Nicholai would whimper.

"P-papa, I-I don't like this g-game."

"Shhh..." Sergei would hush with a devious smile, popping the white buttons of the jammie shirt open. Nicholai's fingers would play along his hands as he did, fear trembling them. 

After Sergei slipped off the shirt, he'd use the fabric to tie his boy's wrists together, excess material flopping lazily as _rybeshka_ finally began to struggle.

"P-papa! I don't w-want to play like this!" He weeped, "Please, papa, no!"

The normally kind, paternal expression on Sergei's face would always drop away then, a sternness immediately filling the void.

"Little boys are supposed to respect and obey their father." He'd reach out and squeeze Nicholai's cheeks firmly, "I am the boss, not you, _rybeshka_. Do you want another spanking?" He smirked, grabbing the knot he'd made on Nicholai's ankles and lifting his boy's lower body from the mattress with ease to assess the damage he did the previous day. Soft purple and blue bruises were still readily apparent on the plump bottom. "Was this not enough?"

"N-no more s-spanking, papa, please!" Nicholai shook his head with a gasp, " _Rybeshka_ will be good _,_ promise!"

Sergei would let his fatherly smile return as though it had never left, leaning down and stroking his boy's hair before planting a firm kiss on his naked hips. He delighted when he realised his boy smelled like baby powder. It was his favourite smell.

He'd slip into the ensuite bathroom to retrieve more. The plastic, pink bottle was almost half empty now. 

_Rybeshka_ knew to cooperate when daddy rolled him over onto his stomach, though whimpering and whining all the while. He'd gasp and pant softly when he felt the pillow-like powder sprinkle over his bruised bottom, and his daddy beginning to rub it in through gentle, circular strokes. But when his daddy's big fingers would slip into his sensitive contours, he'd shake his head and curl his toes in the bundle of pajama that was their bondage. 

"P-papa! I-I need my _cherubashka_. P-please!" He'd plead for his coping device -- his little stuffed toy.

" _Da, da_." Sergei would stop his ministrations to go and retrieve it for him, tucking it beneath his head so he could nestle into it like he wanted to.

 _Rybeshka's_ mews became muffled, then, his boy hiccuping choppy breaths into the belly of his favourite cartoon character. Sergei didn't mind when his boy cuddled with his toy. He thought it was quite cute that no matter how old he became, he needed his fluffy friend year after year.

He'd watch his boy nudge his nose and cheeks into the toy as he continued, dousing his gorgeous, pink crack with the lovely-smelling powder and running his fingers between the cheeks, spreading it all over. He'd even rub it onto his boy's little balls and inner thighs, in awe of how much cuter he became with a perfectly pale bottom.

"Papa has to put some on the inside now, _rybeshka_. I know you don't like it but it is good for you to be clean."

His boy didn't respond, pushing himself into his toy firmly in anticipation. 

Sergei would puncture his little boy with a finger as deeply as he could, the powder making the intrusion rough and tight.

"P-papa!! Oww...!" _Rybeshka_ would cry, hips bucking wildly. Even though he sometimes liked his papa to touch him down there, it always hurt at first when his papa wanted to use the powder to clean him out.

"Shhh, baby. Papa is almost done." Sergei purred in encouragement, his finger beginning to stroke and twist inside the dry hole, the smell of the powder wafting up with every little jerk of his hand between Nicholai's legs.

Finger thrusting as quickly as it could in the tight opening, it didn't take long for his boy's body to begin to make its own juice in an effort to make the penetration easier and more enjoyable. Sergei smiled when he heard the first squelches, pressing up towards his boy's belly button as more of the juice spread inside of him. He poked and crushed his boy's walled off prostate beneath his fingers, enjoying the sight it always immediately prompted below him.

It was then that his boy always acted the part of the name he'd given him, wiggling and flopping, twisting and jerking his hips wildly -- just like a little fish.

"Papa! Papa! Stop! I don't want t-to make t-the dirty stuff again!" He'd whine loudly, "I can feel it! I can feel it in my bad place!"

"If you can't control your bad place, _rybeshka_ , we will just have to get you a diaper." 


	19. Stupid Sweetie Pie (Carlos/Nikolai)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Verbal sex, consent kink, praise kink, light bondage, references to mental illness, references to alcoholism/prescription drug abuse
> 
> Other: Kind of fluffy and romantic????? and also a bit longer than the others 
> 
> Pairings: Carlos/Nikolai, mentioned past Nikolai/Sergei
> 
> NOTES: This was inspired by SweetNSimple's "Open like a ballroom," and we started chatting and they mentioned about consent kinks which, ADMITTING IT, I never considered before (anyone with eyes could look at my archive of stories and see that lmfao). SO that is why it is a tad bit longer, I was trying to navigate it all and learn.

Carlos liked Nicholai. Very much.

He'd liked him the first moment he'd seen him, at intake day on Rockfort Island after he'd been bought out of jail by Umbrella. The Sargeant had been assigned to take him to his dorm room and help him fill out his paperwork, and had looked _devastatingly annoyed_ with every passing second he had been forced to spend with the young Bolivian. 

Carlos thought he was beautiful. He spent their minutes together staring at his eyes, trying to decide if they were blue or jade. The way his silver hair and pale skin almost glowed under the harsh, abusive florescent lights of the shitty room was handsome to Carlos. Even the way the older man snarled at him and demanded ' _stop looking at me_!' was quite cute. 

Nicholai had flicked away any and all attempts Carlos had made to initiate any kind of casual, friendly contact. He called it 'insubordination' and would respond by slamming doors on him, barking curses, and even penalising him with track rounds he ended up having to finish in the rain. That day, Carlos had smiled the entire time, jogging past where the older man was monitoring his punishment from the covered bleachers, wondering all the while if Nicholai could see his muscles. They did look good through a soaking wet, thin, white undershirt, after all.

On Valentine's Day, Carlos had even bought Nicholai a gift. It was small and stupid -- a box of the best chocolates he could afford -- but had painstakingly ordered them a month in advance to arrive in the erratic airdrop mail the mercenaries were allowed. He had brought them to Nicholai's room, presenting them in both hands with a smile. Nicholai had sputtered and yelled, shaking his head and insisting he wasn't allowed to accept them.

_'W-what the-the hell!? I-I'm your superior! I can't just... just--!!"_

He had also _blushed_ the whole time he ranted, and that had been good enough for Carlos to retreat to his room with a dopey grin.

The catalyst for their romance had been a training day in March.

A simple, routine training day. 

Nicholai had been harping on Murphy Seeker, as he usually did. The young mercenary had forgotten suspect detention protocol, and the Sargeant grabbed Carlos as the closest possible soldier to demand he demonstrate the proper process. Nicholai likely hadn't even had a single non-training related thought in his head when he shoved a set of cuffs in Carlos' hands and turned around, still barking insults at Seeker. But when the cuffs were applied and Carlos' fingers played along the older man's wrists a bit too long -- a bit too _delicately_ \-- Nicholai responded by shooting a glare over his shoulder. Carlos used the opportunity to flirt.

" _Did I do a good job arresting ya, Sarg'?_ " He'd winked. The joke had prompted a few clueless giggles from the other mercenaries, ones who didn't notice the blush plaguing the older man's cheeks.

It was that night that Carlos had finally been granted access to Nicholai's room. Though it was short lived -- for an argument, in fact -- he'd still claimed victory in that he'd passed the threshold. 

_"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Olivera?"_ Nicholai had snarled, arms crossed tightly at his chest.

 _"You're a smart guy, I think you can figure it out."_ Carlos smiled cutely, batting his brown eyelashes.

 _"Well! Well-- I don't like it! It's... It's inappropriate! And... And...."_ Nicholai had been biting the inside of his cheeks, clearly struggling through a protest, _"And you don't even know anything about me! Leave m--"_

_"I'd like to know more about you. As much as you want to tell me."_

Carlos had learned a lot after that night. Confident, evening knocks at the older man's door were met with tepid invitations and lukewarm conversation about unrelated matters. Nicholai was always nursing a flask when he showed up, curled into a ball on a chair, chin tucked into his knees cautiously. Sometimes Carlos noticed orange pill bottles, haphazardly hidden beneath a pillow or blanket. 

After many nights and many lukewarm conversations, they finally kissed. A soft, amateur, tender kiss that was far too short for Carlos, but loved and cherished nonetheless. 

After many nights more of soft, amateur, tender kisses, Carlos would arrive to find Nicholai much drunker then he'd ever seen him. The Russian embraced him warmly when he entered the room, a hazy grin painted across his flushed lips and cheeks, mewing dopily and offering sex. But Carlos had simply shaken his head, laying him down in his own bed carefully before leaving.

Carlos hadn't anticipated how angry that would make Nicholai. The older man refused to answer the door for many nights afterwards, and, at first, Carlos hadn't even tied the vicious behaviour to that night. He had simply assumed Nicholai was getting frightened. The first night he was able to penetrate the threshold of the older man's room again had started with a desperate plea for answers.

_"Look... I don't know what I did wr--"_

_"You-you're just trying to humiliate me, aren't you?! I bet you and Seeker are having a great laugh about this but I'm not your fucking punchline!"_

_"What_ **are** _you talking about?_ _I like you, Nicholai, I've alwa--"_

_"Then why didn't you fuck me?"_

" _Because I like you."_ Had been his simple response, " _And you were in no state to consent to or enjoy anything."_

_"What the hell does that matter?!"_

It had taken Carlos aback. He'd never had a partner be upset at him for being considerate before. But that night, looking into eyes that were wavering between hurt, confusion, and anguish, he learned a little bit more about the strange individual he'd taken a fancy for.

_"It matters to me."_

The coming months had been nothing but gentle exploration, kindness, and patience. As much as Carlos was learning about Nicholai, he realised the older man was learning about himself at the same time. Nicholai had looked at him like he had his head screwed on backwards when Carlos continuously asked for permission to touch him. During one of their first intimate nights, he'd even stopped the whole thing, clearly unnerved by the constant questions.

" _Why are you-- Why are you-- What's wrong with you? Why can't you just... Just..."_

_"Because. I want to know if you want it."_

_"Serg-- I mean... other men don't do-- **that**... and then things get-- get over with faster!"_

_"If you want it to be over with quickly, it doesn't sound like you're enjoying it."_

As nerve-wracking as it had been for the older man, Carlos slowly drew from him his likes, dislikes, fantasies and fears. Nicholai had written it down on a piece of paper, unable to vocalise much of what he wanted out of red-cheeked embarrassment. Carlos had been excited and amused when one of the requests, drawn out in scratchy cursive, recalled an old interaction he'd thought of many times since as well.

**_I liked it when you handcuffed me that day in training._ **

Carlos had snatched a pair of the U.B.C.S-issue handcuffs from the equipment locker the very next day, and presented them to Nicholai that night with a teenaged giddiness.

The older man looked beautiful in cuffs, and he'd trembled and shivered with pleasure like never before after they were introduced to the bedroom. He melted with dirty talk, mewing and preening happily as Carlos whispered breathy filth into his ear that was always covertly searching for approval.

" _Do you like being my little whore?"_

_"Y-yes! Yes!"_

_"Tell me what you want..."_

_"F-fuck me! P-please! Fuck me!"_

Carlos had been happiest when the passionate intimacy they had begun to share would finally entered the stage of including loving embraces and soft, careful caressing with fingers and lips afterwards. Nicholai had hated his incessant questions at first, rolling onto his other side and shoving himself beneath the blankets, but, like with everything else, had slowly come around.

" _Did you enjoy it?"_

_"Mph..."_

_"Hmmm?"_

_"Yes."_

He'd grinned like an idiot the first time Nicholai had preemptively offered his assessment of the night without prodding. He'd grinned even wider when Nicholai expressed his affection in response to the assurance he always gave just before they fell asleep.

_"I like you, Nicholai. Very much."_

_"I... like you, too..."_

Even if it meant the older man _still_ had to get a smarmy sneer in at the end.

_"... stupid sweetie pie."_


	20. Oxygen (Sergei/Nikolai)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: breath play, choking, unconscious sex, rape fantasy, rough body play, bruises, heavy sadism and masochism, biting, protesting, consensual non-consent, graphic hurt
> 
> Pairings: Sergei/Nicholai 
> 
> NOTES: For the lovely Pistolrush <3

Nicholai had the perfect skin tone. Sergei always told him that.

Beautiful, fair skin -- so pale and thin in some delicate spots that the map of cool, blue veins was visible beneath. Sergei would explore them reverently, fingers tracing the veins in child-like curiosity, pushing and prodding at them. He'd lick them where they stood out on Nicholai's hands and wrists, slurping at the flesh as though he could suck them right through the skin. Nicholai wouldn't protest, silently letting the older man manipulate his body like a doll in his search for more.

Sometimes, the Colonel would sink his teeth into the delectable spots he found. Nicholai would resist the urge to yelp in pain at first, but Sergei would clamp down harder and harder until he prompted a response -- a hiss of pain, a gasp, and involuntary jerk. The pale flesh would immediately darken, red sores developing around the teeth-shaped marks. By the end of the night, it would turn purple, blue, or black. Sergei called them _flowers_.

Sergei loved giving flowers to Nicholai, and Nicholai loved accepting them. 

They'd sometimes assess the blossoms together, standing a naked Nicholai before a full-length mirror, Sergei running his fingers over the damage he'd wrought for the evening. The older man would ask his junior which ones hurt the most, which ones he liked the best.

Sergei was deferential to a marked Nicholai, treating the bruises and bites he left like medals. Nicholai was more honourable with them, more respectable and worthy. But unlike medals, they would eventually disappear. So he'd constantly have to keep reapplying them to keep Nicholai honourable.

But though his flowers were beautiful, Sergei was happiest when he could paint Nicholai's face with the pretty colours that complimented his skin so well.

He'd tried slaps, punches and kicks, but the contact distorted the skin. They caused it to swell and shine and wrinkle. Sergei didn't like those results -- it was like he was applying a mask to Nicholai -- one that looked very unlike him. He wanted to _see_ Nicholai, not hide him.

Wrapping his fingers around the younger man's throat and squeezing was far, far more satisfying. 

His fingers were so long and thick compared to his junior's, and his palms were wide enough that they almost covered Nicholai's throat completely. If he wrapped both hands around, his fingers would overlap and lock together, like a fleshy handkerchief. Nicholai looked handsome with hands around his throat. But he looked _beautiful_ when the pale skin of his face began to turn.

First red. Then violent. Then purple. A proverbial rainbow of perfection.

The little noises that would peep forth from Nicholai complimented the perfection -- it was like a fine symphony to Sergei. Every little pinch tighter he'd squeeze would provoke a new sound. Pathetic, breathless squeaks and whines always told Sergei he was doing well. 

When Sergei provoked a particular shade of blue, Nicholai's handsome, jade eyes would fall as silent as the rest of him. The peeps would stop, as would the gentle, pleading dance of his fingers on Sergei's wrist. As he lay limply, Sergei would be forced to rip his hands away with a pout, as though removing a bandage. He just wanted to continue squeezing forever.

But it was then, battling the dissatisfaction of termination, that Sergei would be able to sit back and appreciate how gorgeous Nicholai was. The colours in his cheeks would linger, squeaks replaced by wheezy breaths clinging to the air. 

And it was then, consumed in the awe-inspiring beauty beneath him, that he would have no choice but to take Nicholai. It would always be a rough, needy, unceremonious fuck that was far too short. Sergei would often be embarrassed by how quickly an incapacitated Nicholai could make him reach his climax. But the way the young man's head rolled against the ground lazily with every thrust, lips swelling and neck tendons twitching, was nothing short of demanding.

It was usually as he came that Nicholai began to sputter and gargle to life -- a perverse type of climax of his own as air filled his lungs again.

Sergei would stay beside him, sweaty and exhausted, as he came around to consciousness.

The first thing he'd do was smile a dopey smile when he caught sight of his superior, hazy-eyed and red-faced, coming down from the high of orgasm. As he became able to, his shaky hand would snake down his belly to dip trembling, pale fingers between his legs to assess what he'd been unable to feel as it happened.

"W-wa-s I-I g-good?"

"You were perfect."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS MAY BE the last chapter for this compilation in a while. I have so many stories in the drafts and half-completed fics going on (ahem I am so sorry people who read and liked Price of Everything I am trying my best) that I need to focus on those and not be lazy with kinky shorts.


	21. 100 Lashes (Nikolai/HUNK)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: spanking/flogging, public exhibitionism, humiliation, bruises, daddy kink 
> 
> Pairings: Nicholai/HUNK 
> 
> Note: OK YES I KNNNNOW HUNK isn't UBCS, he is USS, but I am bending the rules a little bit here

_**FWAP** _

Nicholai winced and huffed a breath out of his nose, fingers curling into the cement floor of the cafeteria. He teetered slightly on his knees and palms, neck rolling upwards in discomfort as another wave of red-hot ache throbbed through his bottom.

"Gettin' nice and blue now, Nicky." A raspy sneer cut through his attempt to steel his mind. Before he could even think about responding with a snide, backhanded remark, the wooden paddle came down on him again.

_**FWAP** _

His flesh burned. He sucked a breath through his teeth and tried to keep himself from whimpering. He didn't want to show any weakness -- especially not in front of an entire platoon of cheering onlookers. HUNK may have wanted to humiliate him, but to Nicholai this was a show of strength and endurance like any other. He could make it through to the other side and hold his head high while standing on shaky legs. He told himself any other person would have been a sobbing mess by now.

_**FWAP** _

"How many is that?" HUNK asked someone out-of-view. 

"40."

HUNK snorted, "Not even half way, Nicky. You okay to continue? You look a bit worse for wear..." It wasn't a question and statement made out of concern, the mocking tone made that much clear. It was nothing but an invitation to quit -- to give up. To _embarrass_ himself.

" _N-ny_... no!" Nicholai grunted, "I-I'm f-fine."

"Ya' sure?" HUNK didn't even wait for an answer before he cut the paddle through the air again and made a heavy flog against Nicholai's backside.

_**FWAP** _

"Hmm?" He asked once he'd dealt the damage, predatorily smirking as he watched Nicholai's arms quiver, struggling to hold up his upper body.

"F-- I-- I'm f-fine."

"Well... if you insist."

_**FWAP** _

"We can stop at any time."

_**FWAP** _

"You just gotta' say the magic words."

_**FWAP** _

"You remember what those are, don't cha'?"

_**FWAP** _

Nicholai bit his lip so hard he almost broke the skin, nostrils flaring with ragged breaths as he suppressed a screech. The tendons in his neck jumped and danced in silent agony, cheeks flushed almost as red as his arse had been 20 flogs ago. Now he was sure it was somewhere between violent and blue.

_**FWAP** _

The magic words. 

_'I can't do it, daddy!'_

HUNK had been very clear he'd wanted to hear the word 'daddy' come from Nicholai's mouth. He demanded he say it if he wanted the torment to end before the challenged 100 flogs had been reached. Nicholai was determined to never let that word leave his lips. He didn't care if he had to bite his own tongue off -- HUNK would never get the satisfaction.

_**FWAP** _

Sometimes Nicholai wondered why he had such a compulsive need to never be stood up by anyone. He realised it made him terribly easy to manipulate into doing the most ridiculous things for the self-validation that he wasn't a _loser_ or a _weakling_. It had been far too simple for HUNK to insist he wouldn't be able to make it to 100 flogs without bursting into tears, and for him to drop his pants in acceptance of the challenge.

_**FWAP** _

Never again, he'd decided.

_**FWAP** _

"That's 50, Nicky!" HUNK laughed from behind him, eliciting a round of applause from the spectating mercenaries, "Half-way there!" 

_**FWAP** _

Never again, he'd decided.

But he knew he was lying to himself. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Between Choice and Command](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28636632) by [sweetNsimple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetNsimple/pseuds/sweetNsimple)




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